


On the Sixteenth Day

by firefly124



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29437743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefly124/pseuds/firefly124
Summary: It wasn't the first case of mysterious healings that Dean had investigated, and that brought up all sorts of stuff he didn't want to deal with.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17
Collections: Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Reunion





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AshDeanCas](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=AshDeanCas).



> Written for the Profound Bond Exchange for AshDeanCas. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Many thanks to s.a.b.i.n.e. for beta-reading! Any errors are mine.

He’d just promised to be hands-off. Interfering was where Chuck had gone wrong, after all. But after everything Castiel had done for him, especially since he’d made this deal to save him, Jack couldn’t leave him in the Empty.

Actually venturing into the Empty was far too likely to cause exactly the sort of ripples Chuck had, setting everything back into a never-ending cycle of apocalypses. He could see one way, though. The Empty was angrier at Death than Cas, after all. That moment was the one he had to work with.

Reaching out, Jack took hold of Castiel the second when the Empty reached around him to grab Death. That moment of inattention was all he needed, or so he thought. The Empty might have shifted its focus to Death, but it still had a tight grip on Castiel.

“You!” the entity shrieked. “Haven’t you done enough? You think just because you soaked up all of God’s energy you can just waltz in here and take what you want?”

Jack blinked. Technically, that hadn’t happened yet, but perhaps he wasn’t the only one who could see just how malleable time was.

“Yeah, I know what you’re about to do. You think I’m about to let you get the drop on me again?” the entity sneered. “Now. Get. Out!”

There was a second in which Jack was tempted to fight for Castiel. He was frozen in the moment Jack had interrupted. He was smiling, though his face was damp with tears. Death was similarly frozen. Interesting. Not particularly helpful, but interesting. More than anything, Jack wanted to ask for Castiel’s advice.

He had to make these choices on his own now, though. And perhaps the right question wasn’t actually, “What would Cas do?”

He pulled his hands back, held them up in surrender as the one feather he’d managed to grab slid up his sleeve, and stepped sideways, into a space between the Empty, Heaven, and the Bunker. Aimed the feather like a dart and let it fly through the opening back to Earth.

He’d thought it would land in the dungeon, possibly make its way to the library. Somewhere it would easily be found and give the Winchesters a way to use it. But it sailed right through the dungeon, up to the library, and right through the door. Once outside, it caught what would seem to any human eye to be a breeze, causing it to loop and swirl as it went. Jack was tempted to step fully through and grab it back. It would play hell with the timeline, as if Jack's minor interference hadn’t been bad enough, as evidenced by his appalling aim.

Intent, though, was far more important than aim, so while the feather didn’t land anywhere in the bunker at all, when he saw where the energetic currents drew it, Jack smiled. Yes, that would work nicely too.

He took another step, this one into Heaven. He had more work to do.


	2. Chapter 2

This case was off to an even better start than the last one. If Jesse and Cesar needed help, with all their experience, retired or not, then it was time for all hands on deck, except apparently it wasn’t. Dean was tempted to grab the rest of the coffee, bring it to his room, and not come out until either his hangover subsided or at least until Sam got back from hunting werewolves with Eileen. Odds were even which would be first.

At least this case wasn’t vampmimes. Once with that was enough and then some.

So, of course, he grabbed his go bag and jumped into the Impala to hit the road, Miracle riding shotgun. No point making the guys wait, and he might as well be doing something useful rather than “moping around the bunker,” as Sam called it. 

Miracle whined at him until Dean squatted to scratch her between the ears. There were moments he resented the poor dog. If he only got one miracle, this wasn’t the one Dean would’ve asked for. But he’d learned long ago to take whatever wins he could, so he was all in.

The drive to New Mexico was uneventful. Other than stopping to walk Miracle or fuel up, nothing much interrupted the journey, giving him plenty of time to think. Good thing he had a case to fill up that space.

So far, there were no bodies, at least that they knew of. He knew better than anyone, though, that sudden “miracles” came with a price. If this was another preacher with a reaper on a leash, well, at least he knew how to deal with that. Preferably without promoting the reaper to Death.

Jesse and Cesar’s ranch was just outside Los Rancheros, but they told him to meet them at some hipster-sounding brew-pub place in Albuquerque. They’d given their word that the burgers would be great, which was promising. Dean hoped the beer was at least okay.

Fortunately, it was mild enough for Miracle to stay in the car. She wasn’t too happy about it, but she lay down once he told her to.

“I know, it sucks,” he said. “I’ll bring you something good, though. I promise.”

She gave a little whuff and rested her chin on her paws.


	3. Chapter 3

They already had a table when he got there, and Cesar flagged down a server as soon as he saw Dean come in. By the time they’d finished their “hey, how ya been” round, Dean had a fancy-looking glass of a beer in his hand that was darker than most bourbon.

“Just try it,” Cesar said.

“Seriously, he knows his shit,” Jesse said. “The beer here is awesome, and that Scotch ale is the best.”

Dean shrugged and took a gulp. Then a much slower sip. 

“That’s … I mean, wow.” It was definitely a lot fancier than he was used to, but that didn’t mean it sucked. Kind of the opposite. It was smooth, and it had a hint of bourbon to it. Made sense. There was something on the menu called a “bourbon barrel-aged Scotch ale” and this had to be it.

“Right?” Jesse said. “I told you: he knows his shit.”

“I mean, I knew you guys knew your shit about hunting. Didn’t know you were beer connoisseurs too.”

“Meh, I just know what I like,” Cesar said. “They do good beer and good burgers here.”

After some back and forth about which burgers were the best (all of them), Dean ordered the cheddar, bacon, and onion burger. Once the server took their menus, he took another nice long sip of his beer and leaned back into his seat.

“So, you gave me the short version on the phone,” he said, “what’s the whole story?”

“Damnedest thing,” Cesar said. “I mean, we’re not really plugged into the network anymore, but you can’t help running across stuff sometimes, right?”

Dean nodded. Not that he had any idea what it was like to really be out of the life, but that one year … yeah. Stuff had still hit his radar. He’d just ignored most of it till it got right up in his backyard.

“And it’s not like it’s anything bad,” Cesar went on. “At least, not yet. People getting their cancer cured and whatever, that’s all good.”

“Except there’s always a catch,” Jesse said. “There’s about a million different theories floating around, from saints to aliens, but so far, nobody is actually taking credit that we can see.”

“That’s unusual,” Dean agreed. “So, is there a specific place? Ooh, maybe it is aliens. Do we get to go raid Area 51?”

“That’s Roswell, and it’s not aliens,” Cesar said with a withering glare. “I can see why people think it is, though.”

“When we went to check it out, there was just this … thing,” Jesse said. “Looks like someone carved a giant feather out of obsidian or something.”

“How giant?” Dean took another swig of his beer to cover the shudder that image brought up.

“Over ten feet tall,” Cesar said. “Twelve, fifteen easy.”

“Damn!”

“Everybody who says they got cured of something, all they had to do was touch it,” Jesse said. “Nobody knows where it came from. Just one day, it was suddenly there.”

“And how long ago was this?”

“Earliest report is from a month ago,” Cesar said. “A month ago yesterday, to be exact.”

That was … concerning. If the first report was right after this thing showed up, then it had appeared within a day of the worst day of Dean’s life. Considering everything that had happened in those twenty-four hours, the number of things that could’ve caused this thing was scary long. Jack exploding in the Empty. The Empty swallowing Death. Jack absorbing Chuck’s powers.

“After the first few reports, we went to check it out,” Jesse continued. “Found nothing. No EMF. No sulfur. No hex bags. Nothing special about this giant feather except that it’s a giant feather that apparently heals people. You and your brother are the ones that tend to deal with the super-weird stuff, so, that’s why we called.”

Right. Feather. Obsidian. A shadowy image of wings in a barn flitted through his memory, and he squashed it down. He really didn’t need that distraction right now.

“So,” Dean said to drag himself back to the present, “what did your witnesses actually say?”


	4. Chapter 4

When they got to the ranch, Miracle was super happy to jump out and run around after being cooped up for all that time. She wasn’t letting go of the steak bone left over from what Dean had gotten her, though. That was apparently her new favorite toy.

“C’mon, girl,” he said, once he had his bag ready to bring inside. “Let’s get situated. You can come out again before bed.”

With a whine that was the equivalent of one of Sam’s, she heeled and followed him in.

“Damn, you’ve got that dog trained,” Cesar said. “She go on hunts with you since she was a pup or what? I don’t remember you having a dog the last time we met.”

“Found her on a hunt,” Dean replied. “Somebody trained her up well before I rescued her.”

“Huh.” Cesar shrugged. “Babe? I’ll get the horses started.”

“Guest room’s this way,” Jesse said from the other side of the kitchen.

He led Dean down a hallway and opened one of the doors.

“Bathroom’s across the hall. We’re at the end. Master bedroom has its own bathroom, so you won’t be fighting us for shower time.”

“Wow.” Dean looked around the room. To the extent he’d given the matter any thought, he’d have pictured their guest room looking like something back at the bunker. This room had what had to be a handmade quilt on the bed, a desk and chair with a little shelf of books over it, and a window overlooking the pasture where a handful of horses were being herded toward a barn by Cesar and a border collie. “This place is awesome.”

“One of the pluses to a ranch,” Jesse said with a grin, “no stairs. I dunno about you, but my knees have taken a beating from hunting.”

“Right there with you,” Dean agreed. He set his bag down on the chair, shoulder complaining as he did. No way he was going to mess up that quilt. Sure, if Sam brought something like that home, he’d tease the hell out of him, but he could tell that was somebody’s hours of work. Maybe a relative. Maybe even Jesse or Cesar, for all he knew. “Can I give you guys a hand with the horses?”

“You know anything about horses?”

“They have four legs and people ride ‘em,” Dean said. “And they shit. A lot. Went undercover working at a stable a few years back.”

“Might take you up on that later,” Jesse said. “For now, just get settled in.”

And so Dean found himself with time to kill. He pulled out his journal and made some notes based on what the guys had told him over dinner. None of it seemed helpful, but you never knew when some random detail would come in useful.

* * *

The next morning, Dean was as ready as he was ever going to be to go check out the site. He gulped down a quick breakfast while the guys were doing whatever they needed to do with the horses and then headed to the site, Miracle riding shotgun.

He spared them a glance as he pulled away from the ranch. Jesse said something that made Cesar laugh and plant a kiss on him. Dean turned his attention back to the road to give them their privacy. He firmly ignored the stabbing feeling in his chest as he headed for the site. It hadn’t been this sharp in weeks, but it wasn’t like it had ever really gone away. It wasn’t a heart attack. He wasn't that lucky.


	5. Chapter 5

Even having transcribed all the witness accounts into his journal, Dean couldn’t help but shudder in shock when the giant black feather came into view. He’d hoped, vaguely, that it would actually look more like an elongated leaf of some kind. But no. With the veining and splitting, it was clearly a feather. Definitely as tall as him with Sam standing on his shoulders, so maybe even a little more than twelve feet.

Other than the giant feather stuck in the ground and the cars parked randomly around it, there was nothing remarkable about the field, Dean noted as he pulled in, parking well away from the rest of the vehicles. He got out and whistled for Miracle to follow him. So far, nothing bad had happened here, so she might as well be out and about and not stuck in the car.

As they got closer, Dean saw that there was an elderly couple standing near the base of the feather. They appeared to be arguing. He wandered closer to see what he could overhear.

“You’re not going off your insulin because you touched a giant piece of rock!” the woman said. “I don’t care what you felt. You’re checking your sugar like usual and we’ll get you in to the doctor to get checked before you go changing anything.”

“I’ll check it,” the man agreed. “But I won’t need the insulin. Just you wait and see.”

They were still bickering as they approached a beat-up old Subaru and climbed inside.

Same story, then. Come here sick or hurt, touch the feather, insta-heal. The thing that was missing was the other shoe. Where was the fallen angel selling miracles? The faith healer with a reaper on a leash? When would the bill come due?

The other question, though, was kind of a bigger one: where were the crowds? That was one of the things that made this such a weird case. This field should’ve been chock full of people looking to be healed. According to Cesar, there were people who tried to find it that couldn’t.

“Small loss,” he’d said last night, “the only thing we could find in common with the ones who couldn’t find the place with a road map and GPS was that they were assholes. It’s like this thing is being selective somehow.”

Yeah, that wasn’t creepy at all. Powerful beings or objects that picked and chose who they wanted to help were just a little too much like Chuck, as far as Dean was concerned.

A young woman approached the feather, her brow creased in fury. Her hands looked like claws as she reached for it, and for a second, Dean thought he’d found his monster after all.

Then she touched it.

It had been a damn long time since Dean had seen an expression like that on a woman’s face. Her hands lost their claw-like appearance, and she looked at them, front and back, eyes wide. She stood a little taller. Her brow smoothed out.

That hadn’t been fury. That had been pain. He took a step closer.

“It really worked,” she whispered.

“You didn’t expect it to?” he asked.

She whipped her head around toward his voice, clasped her hands to her neck and stopped short, then relaxed again.

“You believe everything you read in the papers?” she asked.

“More of it than I’d like,” he said. “But you’re right. Not all of it.”

“Enough to show up here,” she said. “Something hurts bad enough, sometimes you’ll try anything. Even if it’s temporary, though, this is … no medication has ever even come close to this. If it’s permanent, my rheumatologist is going to lose his shit.”

“What, afraid he’ll go out of business?” Dean asked.

“If he was that kind of asshole, he wouldn’t be my rheumatologist,” she snapped. “What’s your poison, anyway?”

That was an excellent question. He had plenty of aches and pains, sure. Jesse had been right about the toll hunting took on the knees. And the back. And the everything, basically. Nothing as bad as what she’d had, though, obviously. No, the only thing hurting him that bad wasn’t the kind of thing you could just cure.

“Bad knee,” he said, giving his leg a shake. “Not too bad today, but when it rains? Whoo-ee!”

The woman pressed her lips together tightly but didn’t say anything. She just waved at the feather.

“Well, have at it then.”

Jesse and Cesar had both touched this thing, and it hadn’t zapped either of them. So it probably wasn’t a cursed object. But if it had anything to do with Billie or the Empty? The timing was still really suspicious.

Powerful as Billie and the Empty were, though, neither of them was big on the healing. If this was anything to do with them, they must’ve canceled each other out or something. That didn’t track with anything Dean had ever seen, but he wouldn’t put it past them to surprise him.

This shape, though. Why? What asshole had decided this was going to be their shrine of healing?

“Whatever, dude.”

Footsteps faded out as she left. Miracle licked at his hand, then ran to go bark at a squirrel that had just run up a tree.

Dean took another step closer and rested his hand against the cool, black, glass-like stone.

Sparks of electricity exploded behind his eyes like lights in an abandoned barn. His guts twisted and turned to liquid metal that spread to the sharp pain that had never left his chest. He fell to his knees as something tore through him and wrenched memory after memory out of the boxes he’d so carefully packed them away in. Cas stoned out of his mind. Exploding into mist. Insisting “it’s not broken” from inside a circle of holy fire. Turning into a puddle of oil in a river. Staring blankly at an angel blade stabbed into a book. Framed by the burnt shadows of his wings. Smiling tearfully as the Empty claimed him.

Dean tried to pull his hand back, to stop touching this cursed thing, but it held onto him like the world’s most powerful magnet. It may have healed other people, but this? It all fit now. The timing. The shape of the thing. It was a trap, specifically made for him, and it was dragging him into his own personal Hell, worse than anything Alistair could have imagined.

Finally, mercifully, everything went black.


	6. Chapter 6

Waking up in the middle of a field might not be an everyday thing in the life of Dean Winchester, but it was familiar enough not to freak him out instantly. He could tell by the smell of grass and the sound of birds that that was probably where he was. For a full minute, he listened carefully for other noises before opening his eyes.

No car engines. No doors opening or closing anywhere. No footsteps. There was, however, the faint sound of breathing. It was slow. Even. If it was Sam, he wasn’t hurt and probably wasn’t conscious either. If it was whoever had knocked him out, well, they were just patiently waiting or possibly sleeping.

He cracked one eye open and gave it a moment to get used to the light. The Impala was within line of sight, which was reassuring. Nobody else seemed to be around. _Nothing_ else seemed to be around. He pried himself up slowly, expecting to be tackled at any moment. When he got to his feet, he finally saw who the breather was.

“Cas?”

Dean ran to where he lay, just a foot or two behind where Dean had been. He was face down, limbs splayed all over the place, trench coat looking like it had been dragged through the mud. His eyes were closed, but the lack of wingmarks and presence of breathing were reassuring. Not that Cas should need to breathe. Or … Dean’s brain finally caught up to him.

“Cas?” he asked again.

A whole slew of possibilities chased each other through Dean’s brain, slashing at that dangerous hope. That feather-trap, which was not currently visible anywhere, had lured him into a djinn-dream. It had been a portal to an alternate universe that Chuck had somehow overlooked in his destructive rampage. This was some special corner of hell, and Rowena knew him well enough to throw in a shapeshifter or something that looked like Cas to torture him. That seemed the most likely explanation. She’d been helpful the last time he’d seen her, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t get her kicks from watching him suffer.

Cas’s eyes snapped open.

“Dean!”

He pushed himself up and looked around him furiously.

“Billie. The Empty. Where are they? Where are we?”

Dean didn’t answer, just watched to see what this thing’s next move would be. It had Cas’s voice down, that was for sure. Not to mention his mannerisms. Dean grabbed his silver knife from its sheath on his belt. It wouldn’t do much without lamb’s blood, but if he could get to Baby, there was probably some in the trunk. It might even be usable.

“Cas’s” eyes narrowed and focused on him. Damn! This thing even had that smitey look down.

“This is a new low, even for you,” the thing snarled, stalking towards Dean.

“Look who’s talking,” Dean snapped back as he took in the thing’s movements. Without the lamb’s blood, the silver knife wouldn’t kill, but it would hurt like hell. He needed to make it count. “Since when’re your kind working for Hell anyway?”

As soon as the thing was within range, Dean lunged and slashed at its face gratified to see the line of red open along its forehead. Between the silver and the blade itself, that should hurt like hell, and bleed into its eyes to boot. He shifted his weight backward to turn and sprint for the car, which might be pointless, but it was the only plan he had at this point.

He never got the chance. A firm hand closed around his throat and tugged him upward.

“You obviously don’t know how to play your part,” the thing snarled. “Dean would go for a killing blow, and not with that puny blade.”

That would’ve brought Dean up short if he weren’t fighting for air. He grabbed at the thing’s hand, focusing on the thumb, which miraculously dislocated just as if it were human. Dean spun and ran for the car, his lungs greedily drinking in the air while they could.

“I don’t understand,” the thing said.

Dean chanced a look at it as he jumped into the Impala. It was staring at its now misshapen hand in confusion. Apparently, it hadn’t expected Dean to be able to do that either.

“Why?” it demanded, once again striding towards him.

Dean reached into his pocket only to find that his keys weren’t there. Of course they weren’t. They were way over on the ground where he'd woken up, sun glinting off them.

A cheerful yelp distracted him. It was Miracle, with that gleeful “going for a ride” look on her face. Shit, what was wrong with him forgetting to grab her?

The shifter-thing popped its thumb back into place with a wince and stopped short to look at Miracle curiously.

Fuck.

Dean could open the door and hope she’d jump in, but that was a gamble. Most things were faster than that little dog, which was why he usually left her in the car. So much for this one being safe enough for her. She didn’t even have any kind of instincts, to go by the way she was licking at the hand that had been crushing Dean’s windpipe a few minutes ago. Traitor. No, just clueless.

Animals usually weren’t too keen on most monsters, though. That was kind of weird. Dean wasn’t about to waste time wondering about it, though. Sam could look that shit up later.

He opened the door, and her ears perked up. She looked at him and yipped.

He whistled for her, and she ran for the Impala, then stopped, yipped at him, and ran back to the shifter.

What the actual fuck?

“I fail to see what you hope to accomplish with this charade,” the shifter-thing said. “Dean does not have a dog. He is not fond of them.”

“Shows what you know,” Dean retorted. He cursed under his breath and climbed back out of the car. The odds were pretty bad that he’d be able to grab the dog and go, but she’d been the one good thing since … since. He wasn’t going to leave her behind. “I ain’t who everybody thinks I am.”

His throat swelled up on those words. He didn’t have time to dwell on that. He lunged for Miracle, not at all surprised when the shifter grabbed him.

Should’ve gone for the lamb’s blood in the trunk.

“Dean,” the shifter said. “Is that really you?”

“Cut the shit,” he retorted. “I’m not gonna fall for your bullshit. I don’t know what you are, but the one thing you’re not is _Cas_.

“If you believe I am a shifter, then I imagine you’d expect this to be burnt.” It touched its face with its free hand and brought its fingers away coated in blood. The hand itself was swollen where Dean had dislocated the thumb. “While it hurts, one thing this wound does not do is burn.”

“Then this is a djinn dream,” Dean said. He yanked himself out of the thing’s grip and scooped Miracle up. She whined. “Or some shit like that. Some sick game of Billie’s, probably.”

“Would a djinn have rendered me human so that you could injure me?” it asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe?” It did have a good point, though. If this was the happy-making djinn, then you’d think it would’ve made this Cas as invincible as Cas had originally seemed all those years ago. “Maybe you’re one of those fear-djinn.”

“Djinn do not normally insert themselves directly into the dreams they create,” it said.

“Just means you’re something I haven’t heard of,” Dean said. He no longer felt as desperate to run, though. He’d injured this thing like it was only human. He’d gotten away from its grip twice. Whatever its game was, it wasn’t going to be based on brute force.

Miracle wriggled in his arms, and he half-turned from the thing to pour her into the car. There. One less thing to worry about.

“Dean,” the thing said, “I’m as confused as you are. Assuming that you’re you, and I’m beginning to believe that you are, what will it take to convince you that I’m me?”

“Honestly? Not sure that’s possible,” Dean said. “I could ask you to tell me something only Cas would know, but you could be reading my mind.”

“Then there is no point in trying to convince you,” it said. Its shoulders slumped. “I’ll leave you in peace. Goodbye, Dean.”

It turned and strode away.

Miracle whined from inside the car, then yelped.

It couldn’t be. This had to be the next part of the trap, to get him to go after this doppelganger. As torture went, though, that seemed a bit weak. What was its game?

Miracle barked louder.

Dean looked at her, then looked at the man walking away from him. He’d asked what he could do to prove he was Cas. That, actually, was it. Leaving. Leaving to draw Leviathan away from him. Leaving because Dean blamed him for Mary’s death. Because Dean couldn’t trust anything to be real. Just like he was doing now.

“Wait!” Dean called out. Then he ran after him. “Cas, if that’s really you, please wait!”

The figure stopped and turned towards him.

Dean stopped a few feet away. “Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know where this is. But I’ll figure it out. I’ve done it before.”

Dean winced.

“It wasn’t your fault, Dean. We’ve been over this.”

What torture would involve telling him anything wasn’t his fault?

“Is it really you?” The lump was fighting its way back into his throat.

“Yes. I don’t know how, though the lack of grace suggests that someone decided removing it would make the Empty spit me out.”

“Okay, but who could even do that?” Dean asked. “Wait, you don’t think …”

A magical object shaped like a giant black feather that healed people. That healed people it felt deserved it and was invisible to the rest. That disappeared as soon as Dean touched it, and left behind …

“Cas?”

The cut on his cheek was bleeding more slowly now. Cas spread his arms as if to show he had no weapons. Something about that gesture was just so perfectly Cas, that Dean decided to take it as an invitation, closing the gap between them to wrap Cas in his arms.

This was real. He was here. He was solid. Dean pulled back a bit to look at him, bleeding cheek and all. It needed cleaning and bandaging, but it didn’t look deep enough to need butterfly stitches.

“Never,” he said, “ever do that again.”

He wasn’t even entirely sure what he meant. Dying, for sure. Professing his love and then bailing. Leaving ever. Any of it. All of it. And then he was pressing their lips together, and whatever doubts he still had fled. This was real. Cas was here. They had (yet) another chance.

The pain in his chest melted away for the first time in weeks.


	7. Chapter 7

A cheer went up in the Roadhouse.

“Took the idjit long enough,” Bobby muttered.

Ellen snapped her bar cloth at him. “Don’t spoil it!”

Over by the pool table, Doctor Badass was collecting and paying out bets in whatever they’d decided to use as currency this week. Possibly stardust.

Jack just looked at his fathers kissing on the screen of the television behind the bar, and he decided that it was good.


End file.
